Hello Kitty!
by mojamojadansen
Summary: This is the life story of a certain kitten by the name of Shoe, told partly from its perspective, during and after the events of JFA. Comedic/dramatic fluff, and a dash of some dark humour.
1. Shoe

The mansion was often empty during the day when the master was out, save for a ball of fur darting across the floor in search for household pests.

A lonely little kitten named Shoe was killing time until his ears perked towards the familiar jangling of keys in the distance. He would then scurry towards those glossy mahogany doors to greet his owner as they swung open; the tall figure in red and white would laugh and stride through the premises with gifts, flowers and women in each arm.

While Shoe was quite relieved to have company after a day of watching the house, he grew to be quite careful around strangers. Shoe's owner often came home with a mainly female entourage who would shower the kitten with as much attention as they pleased. There were times he balked at the scent of strong perfume and yelped when mischievous fingers tugged at his tail or held him too tightly as he was passed around.

Since his teeth were too blunt and his claws too short to defend himself, he would scamper away for a dark place to hide until his master came to his rescue and drove the overexcited assailants away upstairs.

Shoe could tell by the noises reverberating through the ceilings the master was punishing the guests for mistreating him.

Whenever the two of them were alone in the house, his master would lovingly stroke his fur and make sure he was well fed before retreating into the den. Through the pet door, Shoe could catch a glimpse of the man chuckling with a glass of wine before a cluster of glowing screens. From there it was a habit for the kitten to then climb up on the chair and into his master's lap to sleep. Despite his best efforts, Shoe could never wake early enough to keep his master from walking out the door and leaving him alone in the house again.

...

Matt Engarde was a celebrity with an image to maintain. By sheer luck he had found a newborn kitten shivering inside a shoebox among a litter of feline corpses in the rain. The onlooking fans had a field day watching every precious moment Matt feigned pity and held the tiny bundle in his arms as he whisked it away in his limo to the nearest vet. Much to the dismay of the managing staff at Global Studios, it was becoming difficult to keep the fans under control as they put up with his antics. The event made gossip headlines and brought more giggling schoolgirls, fame-seekers and industry execs to his doorstep.

It thrilled him to see his rivals twist in envy each night through spy cams he planted in their homes. With that "refreshing nice guy" visage cemented in the minds of the ladies he brought home, Matt made a huge display of taking care of Shoe in front of them just to watch their faces ache for his attention. Their ridiculous expressions made his fingers itch for something else to dig into to keep himself from laughing. Making the ladies swoon was simply too easy for any celebrity to do, it would feed his insatiable burning ego to have them desperately cling onto him even after using and abusing them as he pleased. The more fame he garnered, Matt knew he had to step up his game to keep ahead of the competition.

In preparation for another season of the Nickel Samurai and its upcoming movie, Matt was often called away from home and had some of the staff stop by to feed the kitten while he was out. There was no way he'd allow himself to be emotionally attached to an accessory, but Shoe was a convenient little toy who was there when Matt needed him to be; as befitting his image it was only proper to keep the kitten around for as long as necessary.

...

One evening Shoe let out a long mewl, his master hadn't come home as often as he did and soon didn't return for days.

He was already bored with his toys and of hunting cockroaches; whenever he wasn't napping he was taking his time exploring the mansion. Strange people would come in and leave food in the kitchen at odd hours during the day; Shoe had to sniff and poke at the dish carefully to make sure nothing was wrong with it. On the odd day no one had stopped by to feed him at all, Shoe reluctantly resorted to eating insects, rats if he got lucky. When the master finally came home, his face carved with frustration and exhaustion, Shoe would tentatively watch him stalk straight into the den and stay there the rest of the evening.

Instead of the usual menu of gourmet cat food, Shoe had some grasshoppers and pillbugs for dinner.

Padding over to the room where the owner locked himself into, Shoe always made sure the coast was clear before slipping through the pet door. While he didn't want to disturb the master's alone time, it worried Shoe that he was so upset. When the man wasn't throwing wine glasses at the wall or screaming at glowing screens, the frightened kitten crouched in a corner unsure whether to come out and comfort him or remain hidden.

Soon enough, the latter didn't seem like such a bad idea once the master was in the mood to play with Shoe. The hands that used to hold him so gently had begun to stiffen and constrict themselves around his body. Writhing and wriggling in pain as he tried to claw and bite his way out of that iron grasp, the trapped kitten's pleas for help were ignored until those glowing screens were finally shut off and he was dropped to the floor.

Scurrying into a dark corner in the back of the mansion, Shoe made sure he wasn't being followed. He'd much rather be was picked up by the scruff and tossed out into the living room than feel his master's cold, gripping fingers rake through his fur again. Shoe thought his little heart could be crushed any second in the arms of the grinning giant he once recognized.

Those long evenings made Shoe realize this huge mansion wasn't his home anymore. Though he was quite accustomed to his little creature comforts, the brave kitten was willing to venture the outside world to find a place to call his own.

What kept him from leaving was his growing interest in one of the strangers who came by regularly to feed him in the kitchen. She had a particularly sweet scent about her wherever she walked and always watched over him until he was finished eating. Everyone else would up and leave after setting the dish down. Shoe remembered her very well because she had nursed him back to health after he fell sick from eating too many bugs. He was determined to make friends with her, but she was always writing notes in that book of hers to bother noticing him.

...

Adrian Andrews was a woman with too many things to do and too little time to waste on frivolous things like taking care of her client's pet kitten. Then again, she digressed, it kept her from having to look at his smug face during the afternoon rehearsals. As his manager, she knew Matt couldn't resist a chance at good publicity; as long as he dutifully stuck to the schedule she laid out for him, she had no trouble with him at all.

However the last time he tried to put something in her drink at a company dinner, she had the studio overbook his public appearances for the next few days while he was on set. It was gratifying to watch him struggle to get his lines right on the camera on three hours of sleep and ten cans of Red Bull. Now if only she could feel the same way about the little menace lurking around the living room.

Earlier that week she had the kitten rushed to the nearest vet when she found it on the floor, breathing shallowly and coughing up bugs. The production staff had their hands full with the shoot and asked her to babysit Shoe in their place, she had no choice to comply if it meant the shooting went smoothly.

Obviously since such duties were not in her job description, there was nothing keeping her from muttering under her breath on the way to and from Matt's place. Driving quickly but carefully, Adrian kept Shoe in a cardboard box on the passenger seat, glancing over as often as she could to make sure it was still breathing by the time they arrived at the vet.

Much to her relief no major harm was done, Matt would throw a hissy fit if he heard it had starved alone in his house for two days.

The doctor recommended some rest and asked her to feed Shoe soft cat-food to keep it from damaging its throat for the time being. For the next week or so she did as she was told, following the doctor's orders down to the very letter. Despite struggling with her unfamiliarity with nursing small animals, the whole ordeal wasn't the reason why she was upset.

The kitten had certainly been doing well after its recovery... Perhaps, a bit too well.

Previously the kitten had found it amusing to headbutt her feet or jump over her shoulder to knock her book out of her hands every so often. Now it had defecated in her shoes just as she was about to leave through the side door.

Adrian was sitting in the living room waiting for them to dry after she cleaned them out in the bathroom. If it weren't for that little "accident", she would've been meeting with another client to organize the press conference for an upcoming television awards ceremony. Making excuses to the bigwigs and compensating for the lost time promoting Global Studio's television lineup was going to give her a headache. It really set Adrian's nerves on edge that this setback alone at worst could cost her job.

She felt an involuntary eye twitch at the tiny meow that pierced through the long silence and noted to herself her shoes were going to smell for a while.

...

Shoe had been proud of his creative efforts to keep his new guest on the premises. It hadn't been easy trying to make physical contact, but he could tell he was making some progress by her surprised expression every time he pounced on her behind the couch. Today he was even able to get her to play tag by taking the pink book with him all around the mansion. Shoe thought she was very good at this game because it didn't take her long to grab him by the scruff of the neck and recover her book. She seemed content to return reading it until she started frantically flipping the pages and looking around the furniture.

When Shoe padded over to the living room, he quickly ran in the other direction dodging the pillows she threw at him as she gave chase. He was soon cornered in the hallway with her silhouette towering behind him brandishing a large object over her head. Shoe found himself being smothered with a seat cushion and cried out in panic until her grip relaxed and she suddenly sank to the floor in tears.

There was a long pause before Shoe peeked out from below and realized he must've done something horrible to her.

Tentatively, Shoe found a pen in a corner by one of his hiding places and carried it over to her. He yelped when she knocked it out of his mouth, but he slowly picked it up again and sat on his haunches nudging it towards her with his nose.

She didn't even bother looking. Leaning towards the floor, Shoe sniffed on the pen and confirmed it was hers, but it must've not been what she was expecting to see.

He panicked when he saw her walk off and quickly dashed ahead to find other objects that smelled like her. He had to hurry or she would leave and never come back!

...

It was ridiculous just how easily a little kitten threw her meticulously planned schedule out of order, and if that wasn't enough, the cursed thing made her cry! Rubbing the tears away from her face, she took deep breaths and reasoned to herself the stress from work must've been getting to her. The abominable timing of it all!

_Why can't Matt take care of his own damned kitten?!_

Adrian could easily pick up her still-moist shoes in the bathroom and walk out the door in her socks if only she wasn't cursing her carelessness for losing her studio notes while chasing after her stolen notebook. Missing among those notes was also an old photo, a Polaroid of herself and her late mentor when they celebrated her promotion at Global Studios. The last remaining memento she had of the one who taught her how to survive in show business and the joy of having a friend who was like family to her.

_What if Matt found it? He already burned the rest!_

She shoved the thought from her mind as she desperately racked her brains wandering around the mansion trying to recall where it could've been dropped, recovering her notes one by one. Her blood curdled at another nagging notion that he'd probably try to blackmail her into a relationship for keeping a photo of his ex inside her book!

_GOODNESS NO! Absolutely unacceptable!_

Adrian's fingers gripped at her temples, her thoughts continuing to spiral off until she heard that damned kitten mewling behind her with a dusty Polaroid in his mouth. She nearly had a heart attack when she saw him gingerly drop it on the ground for her to pick up.

She was relieved it belonged to her, but what was with him sulking like that?

_Was this cat actually feeling... Guilty?_

An uneasy silence hung in the air as Adrian quickly turned on her heels to retrieve her shoes; as she made for the exit, she halted in her tracks to find Shoe standing in her way again. It'd have been so easy to yank him off the floor or kick him to the side if only she wasn't so completely dumbfounded by that pathetic look in his eyes.

At that very moment, Adrian found herself unwittingly engaged in a staring contest with the wide-eyed fuzzball.

It took a second for Adrian to notice Shoe broke off the contact, stepping off to the side to hang his sorry head. That was when it hit her what he had been trying to do the whole time. This kitten spent days alone in a house eating bugs because he wasn't fed as often as it should. He had no one else to depend on but that flaky owner of his who'd only spend attention on him on a whim.

This kitten had no one else but her.

Shoe was so lonely he wanted her to stay behind because he thought she could love him the way his master would not, and it tugged on her heartstrings that she couldn't realize it sooner. Scrambling for words, all she managed to say was an awkward "I'm sorry.."

Feeling rather ashamed of herself, Adrian sighed and knelt down to the floor to hold her hand out towards the kitten's head.

A tingle crept up her arm when she felt him nuzzle and lick her fingers reverently. Shoe began to purr and rub his head against her hand when Adrian reached out further to scratch him behind the ears. Feeling a little bolder, she leaned over to give him a gentle kiss on the forehead.

She sighed again when she stood to turn the doorknob, the darned thing was actually starting to grow on her. She took one final glance at Shoe and closed the door behind her as she stepped outside.

...

She'll be back, the kitten thought.


	2. Escape

Adrian was completely distraught, her career as a talent manager was over. For the last two days she had been detained and questioned by the police for her role in a recent scandal.

Matt was arrested as the prime suspect for the murder of a rival actor during a major PR event, the television awards ceremony that she had been preparing the press conference for. Adrian, who had discovered the body, was eventually proven guilty of tampering with the crime scene in an attempt to frame him.

Though she risked getting herself convicted with the murder, her involvement allowed the authorities to gather enough evidence to put real mastermind behind bars. Soon the court proceedings publicily revealed Matt as the culprit who hired a hitman to commit the crime. As for Adrian, she would await her secondary trial to receive her sentence.

Matt had antagonized her best friend with his womanizing and ultimately caused her to kill herself by ruining her engagement with her fiancé, who also happened to be the murder victim.

Originally she had planned on building up Matt's acting career by having him take on as many PR opportunities as his schedule would allow. As Adrian slowly fed his ego she would covertly help his business rivals on the side, forcing him to overwork himself until his competitive paranoia consumed him completely. It wouldn't be long until the media grew sick of seeing his face and moved on with their next victim down the list.

Adrian always knew Matt was obsessed with keeping ahead of his competition, but she didn't know just how far he was willing to go to beat his biggest rival. Winning awards apparently wasn't enough for him anymore. When she found the corpse, she was absolutely sure Matt was behind it somehow.

There was no way he was walking away scot-free for what he did. A few months in prison was nothing compared to the life sentence he'd have to serve, or so Adrian told herself.

The temptation to end his career then and there was too great for her to resist.

Time in the slammer still meant she broke the law but it weighed on her conscience for settling her score with him in that manner. It made her feel dirty for even thinking for a moment she was in the right. She would be no better than Matt if she ruined his career and had gotten away with it.

After giving herself another hard stare in the mirror, Adrian's thoughts wandered over to Shoe. She'd done everything she could to make him feel loved; she should've taken him to an animal shelter when she had the chance, as unreliable a friend as she'd ended up being to him. It wouldn't surprise her if the poor thing went back to eating bugs again.

As she forced herself to sleep, she desperately hoped he was smart enough to run away on his own. She couldn't begin to imagine how Shoe felt waiting for her this whole time.

...

Life in a huge empty mansion hadn't changed much since Shoe grew more acquainted with Adrian Andrews.

He had missed everything about her: the way she stroked his head and tickled his ears, the way she laughed when he rubbed his paws on her stomach, the way she always brought in enough food so he didn't have to eat insects at night.

Despite her best efforts to visit him as often as she could, Shoe knew it wouldn't be long before she had to go away like his owner. Everyone he knew could come and go as they pleased except for himself.

One day he decided that it was only fair that he should visit Adrian for a change.

Though he failed in his many attempts to steal into her car by jumping into her canvas bag or hiding underneath the seats, he was determined to find a way to track her down even if she stopped visiting altogether. As the days and nights dragged on, Shoe took it upon himself to exercise his hunting skills when no food was available in the kitchen. It was a good thing he was getting better at taking care of himself; Shoe had no idea what the world outside would have in store for him.

For the first time in a while, a new guest came to the mansion a couple days ago: an old butler with the funny-looking baseball face came in through the doors quietly and walked around in brisk footsteps. Shoe watched from afar as the man stopped in every room to inspect the premises before taking it upon himself to occupy the master's den. Alarmed, Shoe began to run towards the door and before he could do anything to stop it, the kitten was powerless to resist the smell of gourmet cat food he was baited with and blissfully gobbled away at his dish in the kitchen.

Between bites, Shoe puzzled over the old man's generosity before finally deciding he can't fight on an empty stomach.

He snapped out his reverie when he saw two more guests come through the doors, a little girl in a weird bathrobe and a blue man with a spiky head. While Shoe thought he'd love to bat at those pointed protrusions, the two of them spoke briefly to the butler then left, prompting Shoe to recall his earlier task of driving out the stranger in his master's den. Bursting through the pet door, he was about give that geezer a piece of his mind until he was distracted by bouncing balls of yarn that steered him into the back corner.

The butler had gotten the better of him again.

It took an unimaginable amount of time and willpower for Shoe to tear his eyes and paws away from those tempting fibers. Turning around to face the old man, preoccupied with the glowing screens and the mobile device in his hand, the kitten ran and pounced on his shoulder.

Irritated at himself for being caught off guard, the old man dropped everything he was doing to catch the blasted feline who then engaged him in a high-speed chase around the house with a monocle in its little jaws.

It didn't take long for Shoe to realize that for an old giant, the butler was deceivingly quick for his age; all the hiding places in the mansion couldn't stop the butler from closing the distance each time he ducked out behind every nook and cranny. If any those gloved fingers had touched him, Shoe would've been caught for sure.

This was easily the most exciting game of hide and seek the kitten had ever played!

Just when he thought the coast was clear, Shoe was deftly plucked from the ground by the scruff of his neck and the butler retrieved the lost item, unceremoniously dropping him into a laundry basket filled with dirty clothes.

Before walking off in the other direction, the old man savoured a few scant moments of victory to watch Shoe claw his way up and tumble out of the basket, desperately licking the stench off his fur and grimacing. When the kitten looked up, the butler had vanished.

Shoe was as wrathful as a yellowjacket wasp when he silently tracked the man past the backyard towards the master's warehouse stocked full of racing cars. He stopped just behind the wheels of a black Volkswagen Beetle to watch an unconscious girl being put into the trunk. Shoe crept out to climb up onto the bumper and carefully padded towards the roof of the car just as the driver's door was being opened.

Coiling himself back slightly, he pounced on the old man from behind.

Almost instinctively the butler whirled around to catch Shoe in mid-flight and immediately incapacitated him with a handkerchief doused with a small amount of chloroform. Throwing Shoe into a large black case full of heavy equipment, the butler calmly stowed the case in the back seat and started the car.

The last things Shoe heard before he finally passed out were the roaring flare of the engine, the sounds of broken glass and the screech of burning rubber.

The kitten had somehow succeeded in escaping from the mansion.


	3. Encounters

In a secluded apartment halfway around the world, the pacing footsteps of a lone figure pondering the fate of an incapacitated intruder could be heard echoing faintly on old wooden flooring.

A professional assassin codenamed Shelly de Killer was mildly irritated by the manner today's subject had demonstrated signs of retaliation. Those who found themselves in such an unfortunate position would usually have frozen stiff at what could be perceived as the sound of someone trampling on their graves.

Twice his frightened assailant had attempted to claw or bite at the stitches on his face, and was subsequently placed in a small cage to calm down. Never taking his eyes away from the creature who stared back at him, de Killer slowly stalked back and forth in deep thought. He cursed himself for failing to dispose of it earlier while being chased by the authorities after performing a hit for some young rising actor.

The troublesome task of getting out of the country unnoticed apparently took so much priority in his mind he simply forgot. What an abominably inopportune time for his age to show.

Traveling with an animal also limited his range of disguises; he had to keep it tranquilized constantly until he reached one of his safehouses without incident.

Then there was also the matter of finding a successor.

De Killer's competitors were grievously proving themselves incapable of earning his namesake; he spent the last week eliminating the more zealous assassins who intercepted him in London, Munich, Vienna, Budapest, and Rome. Nothing a coil of piano wire and a silenced Luger couldn't handle.

De Killer was severely disappointed they couldn't spare him the displeasure of handpicking one himself.

A new candidate had to be trained from an extremely early age. Simply choosing a random child from an orphanage was not sufficient. The child must be in relatively peak physical condition, of a sound and nimble mind, and most importantly, possessed no emotional attachments. It was a long and tedious process that bore no guarantees the child would surpass him in ability. Or so his predecessor once told him long ago.

Although there was plenty of time until the end of his self-imposed tenure, it was an inconvenience he would have to overlook for now in light of his more immediate priorities.

His slit-like eyes ripped away from the cage and stared at the photos on the wall, most of which were candid shots of his clients and his victims with plenty of stick-it notes dangling around each one. De Killer made it a habit of his to enlarge the photos of those who deserved his special attention; naturally he focused on the largest one and recalled a particularly bitter memory.

The one thing de Killer valued most in his cloak and dagger world was the trust between himself and his client, the kind of trust inspired through a reputation for quick clean work. For years he prided himself on earning his clients' confidence and ensured their safety by leaving his calling card beside each victim as part of his "aftercare" service. Finding a traitorous client or two in his line of work wasn't surprising but certainly very disappointing.

Recently in a much publicized news report, de Killer's last client had dealt a low blow to his dignity by revealing an intention to blackmail him with a videotape taken while he was "on the job".

Never mind the lengths de Killer took to protect his client's identity: coercing a defense attorney's co-operation by kidnapping his assistant, protecting incriminating evidence, and giving false testimony in court through a radio transceiver to frame a civilian. The fact still remained that de Killer had failed in his duty in many respects; voiding his contract with the client would not change it.

By being humiliated on national television for all his associates to see, the de Killer name had soon become the laughing stock of the underworld. Shelly de Killer would preserve his reputation and prove his competence by killing Matt Engarde.

He had been in the middle of planning the details for his next hit when a blurry object flew in his face like a jumping landmine.

Hands, feet and paws waved frantically in the air as one fought the other for control of this most amusing situation. The scuffle did not last long and soon de Killer had the kitten hanging passively by the scruff of its collar. Thankfully his face was relatively unharmed. Lucky cat, had it been a human assailant, de Killer would've been holding a torn larynx in his hand instead.

Adjusting his grip ever so slightly between his index and his thumb, he raised the kitten to his face just away from its reach. Upon a much closer inspection of the feline, it was much thinner than he expected underneath all that fur, but what were most peculiar were its front paws.

They showed signs of being declawed where the bones had grown back into short nubs, the result of an incorrectly performed operation no doubt.

Shelly de Killer recalled the kitten's display of vigilance during his visit at the Engarde mansion and mused how fortunate it was to still be able to run and jump on its feet with little difficulty.

During a previous car chase with the highway patrol, he entertained the idea of throwing it out of his Volkswagen as a distraction; he'd have done so had he the opportunity to reach into the backseat. As he watched the animal in its new cage, a rare grin played upon his lips as a few dozen other macabre thoughts emerged and clicked in his mind before he chided himself for his lack of hospitality.

This kitten was a guest in his humble abode, it was only fair that he ensure it was well taken care of.

At that, de Killer's gaze returned to the wall and he began to plot.

...

Now that he wasn't in the mansion anymore, Shoe was absolutely terrified of the new surroundings he found himself. He awoke from what felt like the longest slumber of his life to find himself in a tiny room with grey walls that barely kept the cold out. Scouring for openings left and right, he had no way of escaping the room at all: the windows and the door knobs were too high up to reach and there was nothing that could be used to climb up towards them.

Even trying to scare the old man into throwing him out the door didn't work out very well now that he was stuck in a cage.

Looking carefully through the metal bars, he knew he must be very far away from the colours and textures he once called home. Wherever this place was, it didn't matter. He was all alone now. With nothing else to do but shiver from the cold, Shoe curled up into a little ball and tried to fall asleep.

The sunlight faded behind dirty windows and before long, night had settled in.

Shoe's fur prickled at the sensation of warmth enveloping his body, a welcome relief for his heat-starved skin. Snuggling closer to his tail, he felt something soft and fuzzy underneath while he heard the faint scratching of metal and the sizzling of oil from the next room. His eyes didn't snap awake until the smell of tuna steak seduced his nostrils, turning his head towards a table on the other side of the room where the old man sat.

Instinct took over and before Shoe knew it, his paws were acting on their own accord. Hunger had apparently obliterated the revelation that he was outside his cage sleeping on a towel by the radiator.

Padding cautiously towards the table, he stopped and sat on his haunches, staring longingly at the dish the man was devouring.

...

De Killer noticed the kitten in the corner of his monocle and cracked a grin; that pleading expression the animal wore was simply too endearing to ignore the way it began pacing back and forth so quickly, licking its lips like a born predator. In the same manner he strangled a false priest in Rome, he slowly continued savoring every bite of his meal until he was finished.

By then the feline had sunk its little head onto the floor, unable to bear its hunger pangs.

With a chuckle that could give Santa Claus a run for his money, de Killer decided he was done his little revenge with the kitten and reached over the table to reward its patience. It practically jumped on all four feet when he set down a large steaming plate of tuna steak in front of its delirious eyes.

Seeing it pounce on the meat with such vigour was much more satisfying than the canned tuna with lima beans he just ate.

As soon as it finished, de Killer extended a hand towards the kitten, half-expecting it to bite his digits. Obligated to make a greeting, Shoe stepped forward and sniffed at the fingers pointed his way and noted the strangely clean scent of lemon and steel before backing away to lick the plate clean.

Now that a truce had been called, this might just be the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

...

For what seemed like a very long time, Shoe's initial discomfort had melted away like winter snow as he began growing more comfortable living with the old man.

With a little help from the juicy slabs of tuna steak of course.

Their friendship grew just a tiny bit closer when Shoe noticed how little de Killer was eating one evening and nudged a plate of half eaten tuna his way. In a polite gesture of gratitude, the old man carefully cut off a portion with the kitten's teeth marks and ate the rest, much to Shoe's delight.

The both of them often slept beside each other; the old man took the thin, worn out mattress while Shoe had the towel by the radiator. Whenever the man left the apartment, he was never gone for long and always came back with food and other strange objects.

...

One thing Shoe liked about the man was how often they got to play together. They played catch with tiny rubber balls that ricocheted around their room, chased mice on the end of a string, wrestled on the floor, and his favourite, hide and go seek. The both of them were quite mischievous around each other and would always find ways to surprise the other at home. The apartment didn't have many pieces of furniture to hide behind but it allowed them get creative. The best part was all the exercise made every meal they shared more enjoyable than the last.

Sometimes the old man would take out a round disk that made this tic-toc sound and swing it round and a round on a chain which was really fun to look at, but trying to keep up with the speed always made Shoe dizzy and drowsy. When he woke up afterwards, his body felt really heavy like he spent too much time pouncing on cockroaches. He didn't mind it much since the old man took the time to massage the knots out of his muscles with those long, gentle fingertips.

Shoe was getting much better at running and jumping these days. Although he could easily touch the edge of the window sill and climb up if he wanted, it was too icy cold for him to stay up there for long. One time he found his way into the ceiling by crawling through a small hole in the wall and up the wooden planks and metal pipes. He didn't notice he was so high up that when his curiosity drew him to a tiny column of light off to the side, the surface gave way and he landed on a couch right onto the man's lap.

The old man was rather expressionless at the surprise yet it took him a few moments to register what just happened and resumed reading his morning paper. The kitten was so terrified his four feet remained stuck on the man's thigh until he fell over on his side.

One day Shoe found himself on the old man's work bench with the glowing screen and a wall full of flat people. He saw a picture of his old master and hissed at it until he grew bored and moved onto the ones beside it. Some of the pictures couldn't be seen clearly since there were giant black squiggle marks in front of their faces, marring their features. He was reminded of the black bars and cubes that occasionally show up on television when the news channel was on. They were all quite fascinating for the kitten to try imagining what those marks really meant.

...

De Killer arrived home quietly with some groceries and a few boxes of ammunition when he heard some muffled noises coming from his room. Placing his items on the floor carefully, he silently walked over to the edge of the door with practiced ease and pressed his ear against the wall as he watched the floor for moving shadows. He reached for the comforting grip of his Luger and carefully opened the door a crack with his free hand to scan the surroundings.

Instinctively sensing no danger at last, he relaxed and walked towards the kitten who was curiously mewling and pawing affectionately at one of the larger photos on the wall. Following its gaze towards the center of its attention, he felt another one of his rare grins stretch across his solemn face.

Adrian Andrews.

Giving the tiny creature a lingering scratch behind the ears, De Killer plucked the picture from the wall to give it a closer look. The kitten was all too eager to nudge and nuzzle at its newfound treasure, it was apparent she won its heart just as he had. He nodded in approval, she was certainly special indeed.

In fact, that woman was an especially rare case where he was still debating his decision whether or not to eliminate her.

Since he didn't have the opportunity to take her photograph, he settled for a television screen capture of her on the witness stand during her trial. She had the look of one who had nothing more to regret in this life after what she had been put through. Her delicately fine features were never lost on the assassin; appearances were certainly decieving. Having looked through her background he could only shake his head in profound amazement.

The gall it took for her to desecrate a male corpse by plunging a blunt dinner knife halfway into the chest area, through the thick layers of clothing no less, for the sole purpose of implicating his now former client for murder. He should have taken her under his wing when she was much younger, she would have made a fine de Killer.

However due to her involvement in the court proceedings, she was to some degree the initial cause for putting his reputation at risk. On the other hand, if it weren't for her he would never have discovered the truth and be forever denied the sadistic pleasure of invoking a great traumatic fear inside the heart of a traitor with an audience listening in.

De Killer felt his jaw tighten and rebuked himself for indulging in such foolish thoughts. He was a professional assassin. Cunning, ruthless, unforgiving. As long as he carried that name, he would continue to commit many unpardonable deeds. Even if he was slowly growing senile, he noted to himself.

Looking back down at the kitten, that dreadfully adorable creature toying with a photo in its grasp, the assassin briefly felt something resembling pity towards the feline.

If it weren't for the factory noises outside and the kitten meowing in content, anyone in the vicinity could hear him bristle.

Not even the hooded man who slipped in the apartment with a gun behind De Killer's head at point blank range.

The tiny strains of metal coil constricting together as the trigger was being pulled became the prelude to the explosion that reverberated throughout the entire room followed by a blood-curdling scream of pain.

...

Droplets of crimson flew upon the floor where a pair of hands gripped and twisted the gunman's arm free from its socket before a steel-toed shoe had pierced deep into his side. The weapon now cast aside, de Killer proceeded to wrestle with the wounded man around the room as the battered floor groaned in protest underneath their weight.

Between gritted teeth he uttered two words only the kitten cowering in the corner could hear.

His mind turning white with adrenaline, Shoe jolted to attention and raced towards his friend's attacker to place a well-deserved bite on the nose. Desperate to keep his balance, he relentlessly clung and clawed onto the gunman's face until de Killer threw the unwanted guest out the window and onto the cold pavement below.

With some urging from the old man, the excitement rushing through the kitten's veins suddenly came to a halt and he slowly returned to his shyly inquisitive self.

That was simply too close.

De Killer wiped the blood off his shoe with a handkerchief before he cleaned and wrapped the wound on the side of his hand with some spare gauze he carried in his back pocket. His old age was starting to show in his dulling reflexes. At that distance he had been extremely lucky to catch the sound of a pulled trigger before it was fired and reacted instinctively. He would have been a lot worse off if that gunman stood farther away to make the shot.

It was the first time in a while Shelly de Killer had allowed someone to sneak up on him. In those split seconds his nerves finally decided that he'd much rather be killed by someone who had much more class in their methods than doing something as vulgar as shooting from behind at such close range.

Why not use piano wire for goodness sake? It's a much more elegant tool for professional assassins!

"Professional assassin indeed," he digressed. De Killer would have to abandon this safehouse now that he had stupidly called attention to himself like this.

Gathering his most important belongings into a black duffel bag and burning the rest, he tucked the shivering kitten in the crook of his arm and made sure its precious photo was safely inserted into his breast pocket. Checking and double checking that he didn't leave anything behind, he strode into the kitchen and turned on the gas stove while he shoved a coke can into a microwave and timed it to the precise second they could escape safely.

Racing down the fire escape and slipping into the alleyways, a deafening explosion erupted behind them like Mt. Vesuvius. One safehouse down.

...

Shoe was beginning to learn more new things these days. First, as inexplicable and harrowing these sudden changes in events were for the kitten, he could clearly tell he had lost another home. Second, his body felt heavy again, possibly from the fear of having watched the giants engaged in wrestling match in the room earlier. Last but not least, today he understood the reason for his friend's distinct scent of lemon and steel; he realized the old man didn't like the smell of blood on his hands and washed them frequently. His friend must get into fights like that pretty often.

Shoe craned his neck to watch the burning building come alive in fire and smoke, half-wondering if he'd have to keep having to move from house to house like that. He looked back at his friend's calm face breathing warm puffs of air in the cold afternoon, and snuggled back into the scarf he was wrapped with.

One thing was certain, he wasn't traveling alone.


	4. The Setup pt 1: Where are we runnin'

It wasn't long before rumours about the recent gas explosion in St. Petersburg spread like wildfire in the underworld.

Though it was said that Shelly de Killer had died in the blast, there was speculation on how he was still alive when a few assassins disappeared in various parts around the globe. The latest piece of miscellaneous gossip floating around was his acquisition of a new pet, a tiny animal which some had argued was either a lion cub, a piglet, or a komodo dragon.

No one knew what de Killer looked like apart from the photographs taken of the man in various disguises. Those who had come after him were also never heard from again.

Who was this de Killer? What was hidden behind that anachronistic code of honour and old world sensibilities? De Killer's victims were from diverse walks of life, but he had a particular taste for killing men of great influence. Various accounts regarding the chronology of his clientele mention his very first client had been a Russian diplomat in 1921 who ordered the killing of a dozen political spies. Rumours wove tales of him disappearing in one country and reappearing on the other side of the world the next day. Hushed voices spoke of him as an undying phantom who lurks in shadow to terrorize the next great leader of humankind. He'd been most prolific in the following decades, demanding exhorbitant fees before he'd begun taking on fewer requests during the early 1950s.

While many had puzzled over de Killer's slip-up in the recent murder of a television actor, another rumour that he might have been an imposter had become rather widespread. The wealth and prestige his name alone could bring was incentive enough for some assassins to test its authenticity, for it was said that one could become a de Killer by first killing him.

...

In all honesty, there was nothing extravagant about being a de Killer. Having lived most of his life in hiding, Shelly had become accustomed to a frugal lifestyle despite having amassed enough wealth to live several times over. Though he was well-versed in the ways of the world, he'd never been one to indulge in materialism; the pursuit of earthly delights can dull one's survival instincts. He made it a point to take no pleasure from the unflattering aspects of his trade, even if it involved the slow, righteous punishment of a traitor.

Getting the job done properly was his professional mantra.

Shelly de Killer always had a strong tolerance for loneliness thanks to the emotional conditioning he received from his training; as a result he developed a habit to help him cope with the accumulating stress before it affected his performance. On rare occasions he would always take the time to recall the faces of those he had killed. In each of their last moments alive he had watched over them so that they didn't fall into Death's embrace alone. Although de Killer had no one who would grieve for him once he died, the thought his victims would at least remember his face until their eyes rolled back in their sockets reassured him.

When the kitten came into his life, he somehow found yet another outlet for his repression. He had begun to confide in his new feline companion as if it was the only thing that proved he truly existed in this world. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he was grateful for the return of affection Shoe had given him despite having dragged the cat through many dangerous situations. Perhaps someday he would find it in himself to believe that Shoe would remember him long after he's gone.

One evening, Shelly had the kitten curled up in the crook of his arm and stroked its back with his free hand as he murmured in a forgotten European dialect, recalling his own life story to pass the time.

Shelly's life was but an ordinary one, as ordinary as anyone else living in the frozen farmlands of Northern Europe. They were their own little country with no ties to the rest of the world; that was until he and all the village's children were forcibly abducted from their families and put into military camps to fulfill their sacred responsibilites of serving the Motherland. He had endured the harsh training and watched all his friends die in the process. Any survivors that remained were recruited into a small enforcement group, codenamed "De Killer", that obediently eliminated any and all threats to the Czar's rule. Although they had been integrated into a bigger organization called the Cheka, De Killer had existed long before the Cheka was created in 1917.

After killing so many of their former allies over the years, the De Killers had been discarded by their own country as a potential threat when it had been officially decided that a government should rule the people instead. Angry and upset at having been denied their rightful place in history, the enforcement group went rogue. They travelled the world as mercenary assassins, gathering funds from their clients to attempt a coup that ultimately led to the deaths of many of its members in an ambush. Their plans for invasion had been intercepted by the latest in Cheka intelligence-gathering methods, wire-tapping. Rather than directly eavesdrop on the rogue assassins themselves, the Cheka spied on their clients and all others they had contact with to extract - at times extort - information.

Two members remained, a young Shelly and his mentor were left behind in the bloody aftermath. Russia's winter storms had done well to hide them from their enemies. Hell-bent on avenging their former comrades and rebuilding their ruined organization, they continued to kill at the behest of those willing to pay top dollar for their talent and murdered those who had sold them out to the Cheka. For the young assassin, the training had become harsher than usual now that the future of the De Killers rested on his ability to master each skill his teacher insisted he learned.

Many years later, Shelly had matured to the point he had tired of the old man's petty delusions of grandeur. He was grateful for his lessons but not for the expectations that had been placed on him, thus he sought independance by taking on smaller contracts alone. The strain of performing additional reconnaisance and long-ranged sniping deteriorated his left eye to the point he had to wear a corrective lens disguised as a monocle.

The elderly mentor cursed at his pupil's resolve, called him a traitor to his own country. Shelly smoothly replied that he never betrayed anyone; since he never agreed willingly to serve a country he didn't belong to in the first place, instead it'd be accurate to say their country had betrayed its own people. As for the old mentor, he added, had been a traitor for a long time having served the country that permitted genocide to enforce law and order. The old mentor had seethed with vehement denial, but in a moment of reason relented before he could answer with a random rebuttal. Cursing his old age, he resigned to let his student determine the fate of the de Killer lineage. He then took it upon himself to teach Shelly one last lesson: the act of destroying the remnant traces of a past life with one's own hands.

That was when Shelley had earned his title as the third successor, and by then he had become truely alone in the world.

Melting out of his reverie, his senses finally registered the flickering embers in the fireplace and the brick walls he had been leaning on. He looked down and saw that the kitten in his arms was purring in its sleep. Stroking the tuft of brown fur on its forehead until it looked like a tiny mohawk, de Killer gazed at the peaceful expression the tiny creature wore before nodding off to sleep.

At least, not anymore, he thought.

...

For Shoe, nothing was more important than finding a place to live in peace, especially among good company. Thanks to the time he spent with his new friend, the old days in that empty mansion had all but faded.

His curious eyes had seen many things while he and Mr. Baseball Face travelled the world. About twice or three times a week Shoe woke up by the window to see new landscapes laid out before him. Life on the run was as thrilling as being in a game of hide and seek on a bigger playing field; however all that excitement wears down when one tires of running away from something. The rooms he stayed with the old man all looked different in their own way but were all just as dreary. There weren't many places Shoe was fond of staying; they were either too warm, too cold, too wet, too dry, too smelly or too noisy.

Sometimes curiosity got the better of the kitten and he would attempt follow his friend outside to help look for food. Since his friend always wore different faces and different clothes each time he went out, Shoe had to rely on his scent to track him down. It was a daunting task trying to keep up with the man's broad footsteps while avoiding the other pedestrians.

Shoe once lost his friend's scent in a sea of people at the local fish market and wandered desperately around the stalls. The owners always chased him out thinking he was out to steal their wares, a thought that had cross the kitten's mind more than once. Shoe tried to follow the elusive scent of lemon and metal and grew alarmingly confused by the sights, scents and sounds whirling all around him.

Just when Shoe began mewling in despair, the bemused old man could barely contain his laughter as he approached the feline stalker from behind and allowed Shoe to climb into his shopping bags. The both of them then took a pleasant stroll through many alley-ways, garden mazes, dark tunnels and rooftops. Exploring the unfamiliar surroundings that way became much more comfortable now that the kitten could rest his paws until they returned to their hideout.

On rare occasions an intruder or two had come by to chase them out, but he and his friend had worked together to drive them away. It helped that the kitten had practiced honing his senses so he could warn his friend ahead of time when to hide. Shoe eventually learned how to watch for the old man's hand movements so he knew when to ambush someone from his hiding places in the walls or the ceilings. He had to be very careful when attacking the intruders, sometimes they would grab and fling him off to the side. He was often thrown so hard that it hurt to land on his toes every time; it made running difficult when they aimed those fire-spitting metal tubes that made holes in the ground wherever he went.

Initially Shoe was quite afraid for the old man having seen how violently he fought with the other giants. The old man, as strong as he was, could never avoid getting hurt somewhere along the way. Naturally Shoe thought it was best to try fighting alongside his friend but it became difficult not to get himself hurt as well. The fights were usually loud and messy, they went by so quickly Shoe had trouble remembering exactly what happened each time.

On the floor, in the middle of strewn furniture and unconscious bodies, the kitten lay on his paws purring compulsively as the old man tended to his cuts and bruises. The man would try to speak to him in a reassuring voice while stroking his head affectionately in a delibrate slow motion. It made Shoe drowsy enough to ignore the nagging pain in his tiny body.

On some mornings Shoe suddenly found himself alone in their hideout. Even though it wasn't the first time this happened, he would constantly search the rooms until the old man returned carrying breakfast on a tray. As they ate the kitten noticed his friend had made black marks over some of the flat people on the wall again, a habit which made him a little nervous; it was a sign that they would soon have to move away again.

Whenever his friend wasn't looking, Shoe took down his favourite photo with his teeth and laid on top of it, trying to cover the entire glossy surface with his body as best as he could. Shoe hoped by doing so repeatedly the old man wouldn't make marks on it. As if the old man had already seen through the ploy, he usually tickled Shoe's belly until the feline rolled off to the side and calmly retreived the photo underneath, pinning it higher up on the wall just out of the kitten's reach.

The games Shoe got to play with his friend gradually grew complicated as they went from playing tag in their rooms to making thrilling chases on the rooftops in the evening twilight. Much to his chagrin, the old man won every game; Shoe ended up sulking around at home, having become bit of a sore loser over time. After being bribed with a tiny piece of juicy tuna steak for dinner he didn't mind his losses as much. On the other hand, his only real incentive for winning was a nice appetizing bowl of gourmet cat food and a much larger plate of tuna steak on the side.

There would be days the old man took Shoe with him to the places they previously explored to meet strange people who smelled of fear. The kitten had no idea what was going on but his friend looked like he was having a pleasant conversation with his acquaintances. The plethora of jumbled words bouncing around meaninglessly in his head, Shoe would pass out just as his attention span gave out for the nth time. When morning came he awoke in a daze of lethargy to see yet another new landscape through the window of a new room. Stretching his back and shaking his head to clear those pesky webs, Shoe waited patiently by the window for his friend to return again.

...

As he walked briskly through the bustling streets of New Delhi, de Killer paused briefly to purchase a copy of the morning news. Navigating the crowds while perusing the articles in the international section, he gave a little hum as he noticed the small tidbit of information that had caught his eye.

The authorities were puzzling over a series of peculiar murders they believe were performed by the same person. The victims' faces and upper torso areas were ripped to shreds before finally being shot square in their foreheads. The papers had dubbed this new criminal "The Scratch Killer", a handle which made the old man cringe at their horrible naming sense. Turning the page over, he read an article that mentioned another series of murders which had international police in a state of panic. Black cards bearing a white design, three long vertical marks superimposed on a face, had been discovered in each crime scene.

A copycat murderer, how quaint.

Folding and tucking the newspaper under his arm, Shelly de Killer made his way into a dilapidated apartment where the little kitten lay waiting by the window. A telescope sat to the side, aimed at an apartment room across the street, one he had rented out not too long ago. He gave a routine check through the lenses with his left eye before giving the feline a quick gentle pat on its head. It appeared the authorities might have found a small lead on his "successor", if it weren't for that tiny coincidence that is. No matter, his admirerers in the underworld would take care of the impersonator somehow.

For the past several months De Killer had been hunting down every last client who betrayed him in the past. He didn't bother leaving his calling card by their bodies. Right now it would make his retirement plan go more smoothly if the authorities had other distractions to attend to. There were still some small tasks left to be done, but with the kitten's help de Killer would be able to end everything nice and neatly. Shelly made his usual rounds gathering supplies and intel before taking the next flight to America.

It was around late February when Shelly and the kitten arrived at another safehouse in the middle of nowhere. Thanks to the recent blizzard that nearly covered the entire cabin, they spent a couple hours shovelling out the main entrance. As soon as they stopped shivering by the fire, Shelly spent some time to play with Shoe. So far the animal had been quite receptive to his hands and his voice which he used to coax it into executing various tasks after specialized training. With a word or a hand signal he could have it walk up the stairs on its hind feet if he wanted. The positive results of the last few trial runs was enough to convince Shelly that it was ready for its next test. As he carefully groomed the kitten, being particularly careful with its tiny paws, de Killer began feeling a little tug in the back of his mind as he applied a new set of nail caps. He was anxious over the notion that while everything had more or less gone to plan, something could go wrong down the line. Cleaning his monacle, he reassured himself he'll be well prepared whenever that happens.

Just one more test to go and everything else will fall in place.

In the early mornings Shelly had been surveying his next testing grounds, noting the extra obstacles and security details that would be difficult and dangerous for a lone man to bypass. Hopefully that wouldn't be a problem with a little animal. One evening Shelly fed Shoe a small meal and whisked it off in his car in a tiny cage before the kitten asked for seconds. When they finally stopped in a forest and stood outside to enjoy the winter moon, the old man felt a nagging tug on his leg. Teasing his assailant by dangling a sandwich bag filled with chunks of cooked tuna in front of its nose with his teeth, he commanded it to lay low as he tied a little package on its back. Satisfied with its obedience, he dropped the bag to the ground and watched Shoe tear into the thin plastic like a tasmanian devil. Before long, the kitten had been wrapped up in a scarf in Shelly's arms as they ventured to the edge of the woods. Vast snow plains stretched out beneath them and the night sky was illuminated by columns of white lights and tiny florescent flickers in the distance.

Feeling the kitten growing restless in his grip, de Killer whispered a few words of encouragement in its ear and let it roam free in the snow.

--

Author's note: The Cheka was a Russian intelligence organization that predated the KGB. I don't remember all the details about them per se, I only had a crash course in Espionage History last summer. But hey, if anyone's curious, there should be a bunch of articles about them online apart from Wikipedia.


	5. The Setup pt 2: Endgame

Shoe relished the cold texture beneath his feet, making the faintest of paw prints wherever he went and mewling in content. He was oddly compelled by the lights in the distance where his curiosity burned to see what lay beyond them. The kitten trodded then scampered on its little paws forward, his field of vision blurring with the wind in his face. The next thing he knew, Shoe felt like he was floating in the air.

The white landscape glided by him so fast it didn't take long for him to arrive at a tall fence made of smooth rock. Shoe travelled its length until he reached a metal gate with gaping holes big enough for him to crawl through. Much to his delight, the jittery feline was excited to have found a new playground. Slipping into the shadows so the giant flashlights wouldn't find him, Shoe darted past the towering garden torches and giant eskimos until he stopped for a breath in a dark corner. Peeking around the walls, he caught a glimpse of black boots walking out from an open door and made a mad dash to slip inside before it closed.

From here on in Shoe's instincts kicked in as he found himself in a narrow hall full of metal pipes. Climbing up towards the closest pipes to the ceiling, he tiptoed carefully on them as they led him higher up into the rafters. The fur on his ears prickled at a draft blowing in from one of the air vents, turning his head he slipped inside the dark metal maze. The noises and smells from the glowing slits below served to let the kitten know where he was at all times as he ventured the small corrirors that stretched on forever. He didn't even need to think where he was going as his feet eventually stopped above a small square room. Looking down, the kitten saw a slim figure crouched on a thin mattress scratching away at himself like he needed to get rid of some fleas.

The man was mumbling to himself, until he heard a creaking noise right above him. Squinting at the ceiling and finding nothing, he cautiously backed himself in a corner; another loud creak broke the silence when a cat fell in his lap, shaking off the dust and snow on its back.

An excited gasp choked at his throat as the man felt tears pour down his face.

_SHOE!_

The kitten snapped its head up as it felt the man's fingers seize its body, half crushing it with his grip as he hugged it tightly to his chest and raised it to his face. The man looked hideous up close with all those crusty red marks marring his facial features, bloodshot eyes and rows of bald patches on his scalp where hair had previously been ripped out.

It didn't matter if his smell or his rambling voice rang familiar with the animal, its pupils dialated when it registered two little words that sent its blood boiling white hot.

_HELLO KITTY!_

The grin the man wore suddenly tore to shreds when one free paw unsheathed a sharp pair of custom nail caps and raked it over his face, adorning the white walls with red splatters.

A curse, then a soft thump on the ground. The rustle of sheets and the scrambling of feet.

A hiss forced behind grated teeth as the feline leapt towards its attacker.

The gurgle of blood and sliced viscera, the thunderous screams that followed as the feral beast ripped into its former master. Mercilessly carving apart old wounds and slicing new ones in their place, it scratched, scratched and scratched some more even after the body had stopped moving.

When Shoe clawed his way back up into the air vent, a flutter of fabric rippled through the air. A conspicuous black card slipped from its confines and landed by the corpse: three long vertical marks superimposed on a face.

Matt Engarde, the original model it was based on, was now scarred beyond recognition.

...

It hadn't taken very long for the staff in a maximum security facility to investigate the noises in Engarde's solitary cell and sound the alarm the second they had found the body. Donning a spare uniform he "borrowed" from personnel, Shelly easily blended in among the crowd during the commotion; in the comfort of the control room he took the time to liberate some of the captives to distract the guards and doctored the security camera footage in Engarde's cell.

All that was left now for de Killer to do was find Shoe and escape safely.

Avoiding the gun fights raging in the main hallways, he raced up several flights of stairs and broke open the entrance to the rooftop. Frantically searching the area in the middle of a rising blizzard, he soon found the barely-conscious kitten safe and shivering in one of the open ventilation shafts. As he held it close to his chest, a bullet whizzed by the back of his head and he turned around - it appeared some of the prisoners had escaped to the roof as well and the guards in pursuit had opened fire on them in haste.

Noting his cue to escape, de Killer quickly tied a rope to the metal railling and rappelled off the wall. Chaos spread towards the compound grounds where the guards began shooting at the prisoners who've have made it outside. The stray bullets in the distance accidentally struck him in the back, fracturing his ribs and puncturing his thigh. Though his kevlar vest had saved him from a swift death, the blood loss threatened a slower and far painful demise.

Shelly limped through the courtyard to commandeer one of the transport vehicles the personnel had hastily broken out to chase after the fugitives. One of the downed guards sprawled over the driver's seat left the key in the ignition allowing de Killer to drive off the premises and into the woods.

This was the final stretch, de Killer felt his hands growing numb from the cold and blood loss as his vision began to fade. The blizzard was the least of his problems, he had already lost track of how far he drove before he nearly careened into a tree. His sluggish reflexes had kicked in too late as the truck skid and flipped over, throwing him and Shoe onto the snow upon impact.

Shelly shielded the animal with his body, rolling down the hill until he hit the bottom. Raising his arm, he looked at below at Shoe. Miraculously the kitten was still alive, in this weather however the both of them were still in danger of succumbing to hypothermia. Tucking it inside his jacket, de Killer slowly stood up and began to walk. The authorities could still be lurking around somewhere, and he didn't want to risk a confrontation in his state.

He spotted a small cluster of old evergreen trees a few yards away. Concealed underneath their long skirts of snow and pine needles, he checked the GPS system hidden in his golden pocket watch to get his bearings. They were still quite distance away from the safehouse; until he could find a sterile place to extract the bullet in his leg he must tolerate the pain a little longer. When it became difficult to breathe with fractured ribs, Shelly swallowed a few painkiller tablets he kept in his pockets and forced himself to get used to taking small breaths at a time.

In the meanwhile Shoe had been purring profusely, shivering violently from the cold. Shelly felt a liquid warmth leaking through his jacket and realized it had was blood. The old man saw the lacerations on the feline's back and limbs, likely caused by fall after the crash; without proper treatment the kitten wouldn't have long to live. Muttering bitterly at himself, de Killer ripped out his shirt sleeve, tearing it in lengths so he could try to stop the bleeding.

Shoe's eyes opened weakly at the old man cradling his head, he hurt all over and the smell of his own blood made him wretch. His friend must've been very worried, as he found he couldn't raise his hollow voice to reassure the old man. The kitten rolled over onto the snow, walking on feeble legs as he stopped to lick Shelly's leg wound clean.

Such devotion, it's enough to make a grown man cry. The old man tore up his other shirt sleeve and tied it tightly around his thigh. The kitten crawled back into his lap as he stroked its back to ease its pain; its shallow breathing did little to soften the grim expression on his face.

Looking down at the kitten, he sighed.

This animal had no concept of an imposed sense of duty or obligation; the selfless generosity this frail creature was capable of far surpasses painstakingly maintaining some professional visage. De Killer finally understood that having kept his distance from people for so long, he had forgotten the simple pleasure of being in good company.

Shelly hadn't found a successor per se, but he was able to put an end to his part in the de Killer legacy by having the authorities chase after a fictional assassin with an actual body count. Ever since he met Engarde's beloved pet, he planned to use it to kill its own master as a form of poetic justice. It would have been cruel to traumatize the kitten into doing such horrible things consciously, so Shelly had it put under hypnotic suggestion; all the training they did for that very purpose had included murdering his old targets.

_Well, all except for one._

If he was able to live through this, de Killer swore he would tie that last loose thread himself. The feline had done much for him, now that the opportunity presented itself, he would repay the debt in kind -

So he pulled out a tiny syringe and put it to sleep.

Tucking Shoe back into his jacket again and gritting his teeth against the cold, the old man made sure the coast was clear before braving the blizzard once more. The snowfall had completely erased his footprints, there was no turning back; it wasn't long before de Killer and Shoe had completely faded from sight.


	6. EPILOGUE: Everything in its right place

There was cold and there was pain, they're all gone now.

The world around Shoe was fuzzy and grey when he wearily cracked open a tiny eye, there was nothing to see. It felt as if Shoe had been living the longest dream within a patchwork of vivid, surreal fantasies. There were bits and pieces he could recall, fleeting memories so vague he could only remember their lasting impressions. A twinge of loneliness washed over him.

He felt himself floating up, then down, rising higher and higher with no end in sight. Soon he heard voices, muffled, incomprehensible words. Then a tinny sound, soft and consistent, it swam and reverberated in his tired eardrums - did they come from inside his head or was something waiting at the end of this dream?

...

Footsteps, slow and steady, echoed in whitewashed corridors splashed with sunlight. Doors and numbers in the line of sight ran left and right. The unmistakable hiss of inhaled breath, held, released in a gentle rush.

This habit never failed to direct focus on the task at hand. It helped every time men were struck dead where they stood from high above.

Today would be no different.

The footsteps fell silent as they stopped in front of door 215.

Knock knock.

...

Adrian Andrews had just stepped out of the shower wearing a towel over her hair, a long black t-shirt and a pair of denim shorts. She wandered towards the kitchen to go over the mail she left on the table. Her job interview for an art curator placement went well and today was when she would hear from the employers.

Life after imprisonment was difficult but she had managed to do well on her own considering she couldn't use any of her old connections anymore. With encouragement from new friends she made during last year's trial, she was able to put her most of her old life behind her.

Of course that didn't stop the rumours and articles detailing her ordeal, but that's fine as she was willing to accept it all. There was no denying that the past always has a way of catching up to people -

_Knock Knock._

Adrian turned her head towards the door.

_Knock Knock._

Walking carefully on bare feet towards the peep hole.

"Yes?"

There was a FedEX courier with a parcel in his hands.

Ah hello there, I've got a package for an Adrian Andrews?

What a pleasant surprise, Adrian didn't think the F-16 resin model kit she ordered off the net last week had arrived so quickly. Having recently assembled a 1/800 scale model of the USS Enterprise, she thought she could use another distraction while waiting for people to get back to her about job openings.

"Sure, just a second -"

Adrian then opened the door to write an electronic signature for the delivery, catching a brief glimpse of the courier's odd-coloured eyes that thinned at their corners when he flashed a smile at her.

"Ok, sign right here please, thank you very much… Beautiful weather out there isn't it!"

Looking up towards the window where the man was staring at, she saw the trees bearing tiny green buds that glistened from the melting snow in the spring sunshine.

"Yes… It's nice that it's getting warmer these days".

She finished putting the last flourish on her signature and was handed her parcel, which felt heavier than she thought it would.

Without thinking Adrian asked about the man's odd coloured eyes, then quickly caught herself and apologized for the inquiry. The courier reassured her it was fine, explaining that he was partially blind and had to wear a corrective contact lens in his left eye. He tipped his hat, bid her goodbye and walked off as she answered in kind and closed the door.

Walking towards in the living room Adrian set the package on her coffee table. When she was about to open the box, her ears picked up a faint ticking sound that nearly sent her flying into a state of panic.

Racing to her room to pick up her cell phone, she was about to dial 9-1-1 before she looked back on the coffee table and noticed the box had mysteriously been ripped apart. Packing peanuts had spilled onto on her carpet, the source of the ticking sound came from a gold pocket watch buried in a pile of green and white foam. It looked rather old, upon closer examination of the engravings the craftsmanship was also excellent.

Just who would send her an antique watch? The condition of the box on the other hand worried her. A soft thump in the distance startled her and she looked all around her in a fright.

Something was in this room...

Before she knew it, she squeaked when that something had landed on her shoulder, knocking her onto the couch and pinning her beneath its weight.

Adrian caught her breath and turned to face her attacker; a cat was sitting on its haunches by her stomach, its tail twitching slowly from side to side.

Squinting as she readjusted her glasses, Adrian gasped -

_Hello kitty!_

Shoe perked up and pounced on her neck. Adrian practically screamed when he found a particularly sensitive spot and nuzzled her neck like crazy.

It took some time for Shoe to figure out he had been sleeping in a box. When he started moving around, his claws scraped against the cardboard, letting in a bit of light from outside. He scratched and scratched again until he was free to run around the room. Wherever he was, the old man was nowhere to be found.

Shoe held that thought when he caught that familiar sweet scent hanging in the air. When she came into his field of vision, he couldn't contain his excitement and decided to surprise her like he used to do. He missed her very much.

Adrian held Shoe in her arms to give him a gentle squeeze as she kissed his forehead and rubbed his neck. That was when she noticed a piece of paper sticking out of Shoe's collar.

She unfolded the typewritten note and began to read -

"Ms. Adrian Andrews,

I must offer you my sincerest apologies for the trouble I caused you during an incident that took place last year, the State vs Engarde case I'm sure you remember. Although it had been a mistake on my part to have placed my trust in my former client, it did not excuse my attempt to incriminate you in his stead.

I will not ask for your forgiveness, however I will give to you an item I accidentally acquired at the Engarde estate: a kitten.

He's a rather inquisitive creature - perhaps too curious for its own good - but he is an adoring and devoted creature who deserves a good home. Actually he had been pining for you ever since I adopted him.

For a young lady living alone in the city, I'm sure he will make good company. You might also find him to be very useful as a bodyguard, I had him trained to respond to certain commands for everyday tasks. The instructions for their use are inside the pocket watch, pull on the knob thrice and push back in to open the secret compartment.

Do not worry, I have no plans on visiting this continent again. Given the sort of lifestyle I am accustomed to, I am unable to give this kitten what he needs. As he had lived poorly in a previous life, I can only pray he finds good fortune with you in this one.

Yours,  
Shelly De Killer.

PS: The kitten seems to have quite the appetite for tuna steak, please be sure to keep some in stock. It helps whenever you need to bribe him to do something for you."

With a small smirk and a raised brow, Adrian read the letter over and over till she finally set it down on the table. She carried Shoe with her to the window and looked outside at all the high rise buildings. She obviously wouldn't expect to find the telltale sign of a tiny lens reflection on any of the roofs, but she smiled and waved with Shoe. This was her way of saying thanks.

Spying on the two from the building across the street with a sniper scope, de Killer couldn't help but crack another rare grin as he packed up his rifle with the rest of his belongings and set off on a journey to make a new life for himself.

Tipping his hat one more time, he whispered -  
_  
May the both of you be blessed with longevity._

**The End.**


End file.
